


Life and Death Are One (Even as the River and the Sea)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, F/M, Genderbending, Necromancer Harry Potter, Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: They knew the Dark Lord was so powerful that only a Necromancer could ever hope to survive a bonding with him. They knew the Dark Lord was a tyrant. They knew that bonded he would be worse than Genghis Khan.





	Life and Death Are One (Even as the River and the Sea)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Choke On Your Jewels And All Your Gold (I’m Not Your Souvenir)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006741) by [Ellory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory). 



“This is all your fault!” Solaria Black yelled as she waved her hands. 

No one was near enough to hear, but that didn’t matter; it was still Marvolo Gaunt’s fault. She could yell at him when he wasn’t around if she wanted, and no one would stop her. Well, unless those Aurors caught up and murdered or imprisoned her. It might be hard to escape Azkaban. Death, eh, she wasn’t worried about him. What? She was powerful, okay? Hence the Aurors trying to off her before she reached Marvolo.

“I’m only sixteen, you jerk!” Solaria huffed as she batted a branch aside. It snapped back at her. She managed to duck it with a yelp, only to trip over her own feet and land in a pile of leaves that smelt worse than the goat she gutted last month for a ritual. “My ankle hurts now. That’s your fault too!”

Why would she blame herself when she could blame it all on Marvolo? Why did his manor have to be so far away, with wards that made Apparation impossible unless keyed into them? Well, safety, obviously, but they were terribly inconvenient right now.

To be fair, though she didn’t want to be fair, Solaria knew it wasn’t his fault. She was blaming him anyway. “I wanted to be twenty before bonding, you—you—” Solaria wasn’t sure how she wanted to finish that sentence, but none of the words that she thought of were polite. And, okay, so that was immature. But, who cared? She was not an official adult yet. She could be immature if she wanted. So there!

Solaria grumbled and stood up, brushing dirt and leaves off her clothes. Her pants were damp now, and she hoped they would dry before she entered Marvolo’s official territory. The last thing she needed was to appear looking like a filthy Muggle. That wouldn’t be a good first impression to make on the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain.

A branch cracked somewhere behind her.

Solaria ran.

She didn’t know how the Aurors had found out she was a Necromancer. As far as she knew, no one outside her family possessed that knowledge. Well—and Neville Longbottom, of course. Solaria would never forgive her god-brother if he had blabbed her secret while messing around with Susan Bones. He would be dead to her. He would be so dead to her that she might resurrect him just so that Marvolo could kill him again. And again. And again. 

“Ow,” Solaria hissed as branches whipped against her and cut her skin. She should’ve worn the long-sleeved shirt. “Right, because this was an escape that allowed enough time to change,” she bit out. It had taken too many charms and her mum’s Invisibility Cloak to get out of Hogsmeade without being captured.

Just because Solaria was sixteen didn’t mean she was an idiot. She knew exactly why the Aurors wanted to catch her. If she were lucky, they would just kill her. Solaria had never been very lucky. Hence the magic she was using non-stop in an effort to erase her trail. 

“You owe me for this, Marvolo.” 

Solaria had a horrible habit—according to Neville—of talking to Marvolo as if he were present. Considering she had never met the man in her entire life, she sort of figured Neville had a right to complain. Regardless, she didn’t plan to quit.

A quick stop to catch her breath ended with Death Eaters melting out of the trees. Well, not melting. Obviously. A tree wouldn’t melt. It would catch fire. But they appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Not actual Nowhere. Solaria did an experiment or fifty once to see if it were possible; for the record, it wasn’t. The magic she used to block her trail must have triggered a defensive ward. She was surprised it had taken them this long to find her.

She must be on Marvolo’s land now.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A wizard with blue eyes smirked at her and stalked closer. He was the ugliest pureblood she had ever seen. Seriously! He must have been one of those babies that people saw and secretly thought maybe it’ll grow up pretty.

Being on Marvolo’s land, with his Death Eaters, was the safest that Solaria had ever been in her entire life. She knew this; she didn’t doubt it. She was a Necromancer! Now, all that said, she didn’t feel safe. “I’ll see Marvolo now,” Solaria said. She shoved her fingers into her hair, which had fallen out of its ponytail, and started picking out leaves and moss.

“Watch your mouth, witch,” a set of twins growled in unison. They took a step forward, as if to intimidate her. It pissed her off that it kind of worked.

The ugly pureblood wrinkled his nose, as if she were the rankest thing he had ever smelled in his entire life. Bastard.

“Marvolo. Now.” Solaria flicked her fingers at them. “Shoo.”

Somehow, the ugly one could become even more ugly. He leaned toward her and snarled, “Listen here, you—”

And, abruptly, Solaria was just done.

“No,” Solaria stated, voice dangerously calm, “you listen here.” She snapped the fingers on her right hand, and little black flames danced on each fingertip. “I’ve been awake the last twenty-six or so hours. I’ve had Aurors on my trail almost that entire time, and I’d wager my left kidney that they’re Dumbledore’s pets. Someone I thought I could trust with my life betrayed me.” Her shoulders were so tense that she wondered if she might tear a muscle from how tightly they were bunched. “I’m still sixteen years old! If the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain is too busy to meet me, then I’ll just go hang out with the Dark Lord of South Africa.” Solaria offered her serial killer smile and laughed when they flinched away from her. “Then the next time you see me, it’ll be because we’ve decided to take over the world.”

“Plotting domination already?” Marvolo Gaunt walked out of the trees. His Death Eaters parted and let him through. “My, my, aren’t you interesting.” His smile was every bit as macabre as hers. The glance he swept over her made her swallow. No one had ever looked at Solaria like that before—ravenous. 

She thought she knew what to expect. She was wrong.

Marvolo Gaunt was the only Dark Lord in the world who managed to keep his position alone. He had been the Dark Lord and unbonded for longer than she had been alive. He was so powerful that only a Necromancer could ever hope to survive a bonding with him. Ergo why Aurors and enemies alike slaughtered every Necromancer they come across.

They said he was a tyrant. They said that bonded he would be worse than Genghis Khan.

Marvolo touched the black flames. “Oh, that burns.” He grabbed Solaria’s wrist, buried his nose against her skin, and breathed deeply. The fire danced next to his right eye; he didn’t even flinch.

“Marvolo.” Solaria’s voice came out as a dark tease. It was something she had never heard from herself before. When his teeth scraped against her wrist in response, she figured he liked it—a lot.

“I’m not going to wait until you’re seventeen,” he said against her skin. Marvolo’s gaze reminded Solaria of the time she went to a Muggle museum on a dare and saw a collection of exotic, pinned butterflies. 

“I never thought you would,” Solaria replied. That was why she had hidden so long. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but Dark Lords were not meant to be alone. A Dark Lord was meant to have a Dark Lady. He had waited decades for his.

Marvolo bit down hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth, but didn’t break the skin. He kissed her wrist and licked his lips. “Ask your courtship boon. And keep in mind that we’re bonding at moonrise tonight, little tyrant. Don’t be difficult on purpose.” 

Solaria had known what she would ask for her boon since she was a child and realized she was a Necromancer. “You will give me as many children as I desire, and swear to me that none of them will ever die.” Solaria would not allow anything else. She knew what it was like to grow up with terror as a constant companion. Unless she could promise her children unquestionable safety, she would not bring any into the world. Children were all she had ever wanted.

And, oh, what nightmares would await anyone who even thought of touching anything that belonged to the Dark Lord Marvolo Gaunt.

Somehow, with human vocal cords, Marvolo hissed with laughter. It sounded of unmitigated victory. But it was his eyes—eyes that burned like hellfire—which caught her heart. Near insanity. Near starvation. Near emptiness. Solaria had always known Marvolo would never let her leave once she was in his grasp. She had never guessed that he would be so quick to make her never even want to think about leaving.

People with eyes like his loved with possessive desperation. And Solaria knew, with a sudden surety, that he would do anything, kill anyone—even his favorite Death Eater—to keep her at his side.

“Little tyrant.” Marvolo dropped to his knees, crushing leaves with a harsh crackle. His Death Eaters abased themselves on the forest floor, so that none of them were above him. He kissed her stomach with a naughty smirk. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

Solaria’s heart raced, but not with fear. For the first time in her life, she felt safe and wanted.

***

“Little tyrant.” A hand stroked down her back, and then curved around her hip. “Wake up. It’s time.”

Solaria yawned and blinked twice. It was moonrise already? Merlin, it felt like she had just gone to sleep. And judging by the wolfish grin on Marvolo’s face, she wouldn’t be getting any sleep for a long time. “I’m awake,” she grumbled. Solaria shoved the blankets down and stretched. The shirt he had given her to sleep in pooled about her thighs. She snickered at how avidly he watched her skin.

“Do I amuse you, little tyrant?” Marvolo’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. It was so heavy with darkness and magic.

Patting his cheek mockingly, Solaria said, “Patience, Marvolo. Good things come to those who wait.” She wasn’t the slightest bit concerned with him so close. Anyone else would’ve annoyed her, but his attention was coveted.

“I’ve waited long enough,” Marvolo snapped. 

In the face of the aching emptiness in his voice, Solaria’s amusement dried up. She tried to imagine it: being alone for over six decades. Just the thought made her want to temporarily kill herself; at least Death would keep her company. To have all associates be beneath you, and never your equal, what an awful existence that would be. Marvolo was stronger than expected, in ways she hadn’t really considered. Annoyingly, that made him all the more appealing.

“So you have,” whispered Solaria. She tangled her fingers with his. “Well, let’s do something about that.”

Marvolo scraped his teeth over her wrist again; it figured the jerk would insist on the most intimate way of greeting a Necromancer. It acknowledged that life was in a Necromancer’s hands … not just death. Most people were too stupid to understand the difference. Solaria had a feeling that Marvolo hadn’t allowed himself to be idiotic a single day in his life.

“If you ever try to leave me, I’ll rip your magic from you.” Marvolo kissed her wrist gently. “Do you understand, little tyrant?”

Solaria’s smile was at least as tender as his. “If you ever try to dose me with love potions, I’ll raise your children from the womb to despise you.” If she were anyone else, she would’ve wet herself from fright at the look that inspired in his eyes. “Do you understand, Dark Lord?”

“I accept your terms,” Marvolo bit out.

Laughing darkly, Solaria brushed her thumb across his lower lip. “And I yours.”

As they stood in the stream of moonlight coming through the open window of the bedchamber, Solaria didn’t look away from him. She didn’t love him. Marvolo didn’t love her. But as the bonding magic hung cloyingly thick in the air, drowning them in darkness, she realized that would change.

When it did … oh, how terrible and gruesome they would be in defense of their love.

***

“Well, how are you, beloved?”

Solaria startled, spilling her tea all over her hands. She cursed fluently, though it was Vanished moments after it touched her skin. The burns healed seconds afterwards. “Must you always do that?”

Laughter like rattling bones filled the conservatory. “I really must.” A handsome smirk painted itself across parchment pale skin. “Catching you unaware is one of my favorite hobbies.”

It was. It always had been. Solaria hated it. She felt like the personal butt to his every joke, though she knew thinking such was more than a slight exaggeration. She wasn’t the only one he snuck up on. She was merely his absolute favorite.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped. Solaria was exhausted. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention. Her husband’s followers fawned over her, because she was their Lord’s wife and a Necromancer. After having hidden in plain site her entire life, the sudden, pointed focus was aggravating. More than once she’d almost Blasted one of the Death Eaters through a wall just to make them go away.

He raised an eyebrow as black as a Dementor’s heart. “Won’t you offer me a seat, beloved?”

Solaria snorted. “Are you suddenly incapable of appropriating furniture on your own without being granted permission, Granpapa?” She rolled her eyes. “This must be a new development.”

“Ungrateful brat.” He huffed and gracefully sat on the chair opposite hers, spine as straight as straight could be. “I was being polite.”

She threw her head back and laughed until she cried. “Liar! You can’t fool me there, Granpapa. Death isn’t polite.” He was a nosy, infuriating busybody. Merlin, just because Death got bored once and posed as a wizard and started the Potter bloodline didn’t mean she existed to entertain him. Technically, she was a Black—well, Gaunt now—though she had inherited the powers of her mother’s bloodline and not her father’s.

Death sniffed with all the affected air of the prissiest pureblood she had ever had the misfortune to meet. Then he joined her in her laughter. “Seriously, though, how are you?” He frowned, and it carved across his face like the slash of a scythe, his lips the blood that spilled from the wound. “I leave for a measly five months to torture some dead souls and come back to find you aren’t where I left you.” As his gaze swept over her, she could feel the burn of frostbite in its wake. “And someone’s grubby magic is all over you, beloved.”

“I beg your pardon,” Marvolo hissed from the doorway. And oh, how delightfully livid his magic was as it writhed.

“Not granted,” Death said, waving a careless hand in Marvolo’s direction without turning to look at him.

Solaria bit her lip to keep from laughing again. As much as she enjoyed teasing her husband, and as entertaining as it would be to watch him and Death needle each other, she didn’t want to deal with the crowd of Death Eaters that would appear if they started dueling one another.

“The ‘grubby magic,’ as you so eloquently put it, belongs to my husband,” she said.

“My magic is not grubby,” Marvolo stated. He quivered with rage. Ah, perhaps he misunderstood the situation. What with her granpapa calling her ‘beloved.’ Marvolo couldn’t be thick enough to think that she was cheating on him in his own manor, could he?

“Of course it is,” Death said, gaze never leaving Solaria. “It’s filthy and has no business touching my beloved.” He hummed, and dying screams echoed in the room. “I think I’ll remove it.” Marvolo shot the Killing Curse at Death. Solaria groaned as her granpapa caught it in his hand and rolled the sickly green light between his fingers.

Solaria pointed at Death. “Stop provoking my husband, Granpapa. I’ve become somewhat fond of him. I plan on keeping him for quite a while yet.”

“Granpapa?” Marvolo asked incredulously. Well, incredulously for him. Which basically meant the questioning noise at the end of the word was a tiny bit higher pitched than it usually was. Death didn’t look a day over twenty; even wizards didn’t age that well.

“Must I?” Death groaned, an orphan’s hunger clenched her stomach. Solaria stilled as Marvolo visibly flinched. That small gesture told her more of his childhood than she had learned in three and a half weeks.

Solaria beckoned Marvolo to her side. He hated being summoned by a crook of her finger, but he came and sat beside her anyway. Then he wrapped a possessive arm around her and glared pointedly. Men. 

“Granpapa, meet my husband—and yes, I haven’t changed my mind in the last thirty seconds. I still plan to keep him,” she rushed out when her granpapa opened his mouth. Death huffed again, sending the scent of blood wafting on the air. “He’s the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain.”

Death turned his frostbite gaze on Marvolo and stated, “Just because you’re one of my favorites doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you any time soon for bonding with my beloved granddaughter without permission, whelp.”

Solaria sighed and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. It seemed to both startle and soothe him at the same time. “Marvolo, meet Death.”

The flyting began in earnest, but none of the Death Eaters arrived to interrupt, so Solaria congratulated herself on her victory. She smirked fondly at Death. Without a doubt, he approved of Marvolo. But she knew for a fact he would milk Marvolo not having asked permission before bonding with her for years. It would be good for her husband. Working for approval for a change—since most everyone he surrounded himself with heaped it upon him—would give him stronger character.

***

Four days later, a spy got a message off—revealing the Dark Lord’s bonding to a Necromancer—before he was caught and executed.

The war in Wizarding Britain escalated.

***

Theodred Nott stood over Solaria’s fallen body. She could just make out his wand in his left hand, and he fiercely wielded her borrowed wand in his right hand. Blood seeped from Solaria’s skin and stained his robes from where they touched. 

“Hang on, my lady,” Theodred said as he sliced another Auror in half. If some Unspeakable hadn’t raised Anti-Portkey and Anti-Apparation Wards, Solaria knew he would have already taken her to a Healer.

Dismembered bodies lay around them, splayed and sundered. Blood dripped down his mask. It took all his concentration to battle the attackers and maintain the Dark Healing Charm on her wound at the same time. She tried not to scream or move, so that she wouldn’t distract him.

“At least I can’t see your spine, anymore,” Theodred muttered.

Solaria clamped down harder on the pain, so it wouldn’t cripple Marvolo through their bond. She would not have him die in a duel against Dumbledore because of her. Mad-Eye Moody, the bloody cripple, and her traitorous cousin Nymphadora had attacked her at the same time. If Solaria hadn’t been wearing Basilisk hide armor at Marvolo’s insistence, she would’ve bled out in seconds. When the curses hit, Theodred wrenched himself away from his own fight, trusting his fellows to guard his back, and slayed her enemies. 

“You’re suicidal,” Theodred said as he stared down yet another Auror. “Haven’t you learned from these idiots?” He violently gestured at the dead wizards and witches, surrounding them like the shadow of a blood moon.

“I’m not afraid of—” Theodred gutted the Auror before he could finish talking. 

Then, as familiar magical signatures approached, Theodred raised the wands higher and tightened his defense. “Well, look who decided to show up,” Theodred taunted.

Solaria was slightly delirious, drifting in and out of awareness, but she would recognize that magic anywhere.

“Stand down!” Neville ordered, jaw tense.

“No.”

Hermione Granger took a hurried step forward, only to leap back as Theodred swung his wand to aim right at her. “What’re you doing? Solaria needs help!”

Solaria snorted. Not from them, she didn’t. Neville, who must have been the one who sold her out, though he wouldn’t have done it on purpose. That didn’t earn her forgiveness or excuse his stupidity. And Granger would drag her back to Dumbledore, thinking she had been potioned by the evil Dark Lord. The girl would smother her in pity and treat her as if she had been abused and assaulted, instead of willingly bonded to one of the most powerful wizards in the world.

“You don’t have permission to touch the Dark Lady,” Theodred replied. 

“She’s not the Dark Lady!” Granger yelled. “Calling Solaria that doesn’t make her one you, you—Death Eater!”

“She’s dying,” Neville stated.

Theodred laughed, an insane, dark laugh. “You’re dumber than I thought if you think I’d let the Dark Lady die.” Theodred narrowed his eyes and powered the tip of each wand with a Killing Curse. “You aren’t touching the Dark Lady. You don’t have permission.”

Were they really that ignorant? How had they thought they would get her away from her husband’s Death Eaters? Were they blind? Did they not see the Auror bodies strewn all around them like the remnants of a macabre piñata?

Death appeared at her side. “Decided to come visit, beloved?” Death asked as he patted her shoulder and swept a cape over her. Wise of him. Her robes had been shredded in the fight and there had been no time to repair them; that was another reason Theodred stood so close.

Whenever anyone looked at Solaria with desire … Marvolo experimented.

“How is she?” Theodred said. 

Her stomach was still slashed open; her organs on display, well, not anymore now that Death’s cape covered her. “I don’t have time to entertain her now. She’ll live.”

“Not if you don’t let us heal her!” Hermione screamed.

“My mother is nearby,” Neville said. “She can heal Solaria.”

“Are you deaf?” Theodred glowered. “I won’t disobey my lord because you’re children. If you try to lay a hand on the Dark Lady, I’ll cut it off. My lord waited decades for her, and I’ll not let anything or anyone take her away from him when it’s in my power to stop it.”

“Be silent, brats,” Death said. “Touching Solaria without her permission is a death sentence.” He chuckled, and her lungs felt full of water, though she didn’t drown. “Everyone knows that.”

“Hmm. It’s nice to know you listen when I’m talking to you, Death,” Marvolo said, protective lividness rippling through his magic.

Theodred didn’t step aside until Marvolo reached Solaria. “Moody and a Black traitor caught my lady by surprise after she killed Scrimgeour.”

Marvolo stared at Theodred; Solaria was shocked by the pride in his gaze. “You killed them.”

Theodred grinned. “I think pieces of them are around here somewhere, my lord.” His smirk dripped with satisfaction. “Very little pieces.”

“What are you doing? Get away from Solaria, you monster!” Granger screamed. She pointed at Marvolo with a shaking finger, face red.

Marvolo picked Solaria up and flashed an unsettling smile. “You’re overly familiar with my lady-wife, Mudblood. I’d stop if I were you.” He kissed Solaria’s blood-splattered cheek. 

That—kissing in front of other people—was new. Marvolo usually hoarded all her intimacies in private.

“W-what?” Granger spluttered.

Theodred handed Solaria’s wand to Marvolo, much to Neville and Granger’s horror. 

“Solaria hates recovering anywhere but home,” Death said. “Plot against my beloved’s fanboys and fangirls later, Marvolo. She needs you now.”

Marvolo smirked naughtily down at Solaria. “She does hate waking up anywhere but our bed.” He kissed Solaria again, deeply and passionately. 

As he ripped through the Anti-Apparation Wards with brute magical strength, Solaria couldn’t help but wonder if he had done it to taunt the others, or because her injury had made him ... anxious.

***

Solaria roused from her slumber with a wince. She was sore all over, a common occurrence these days. The weighed-down feeling of exhaustion was familiar. Training with Death Magic drained her. 

It had taken a long time to resurrect her husband’s dead best friend. Solaria would never normally bother using her powers to reverse a mortal death. But, well, Marvolo was inordinately fond of Theodred Nott. And Solaria had come to like him a great deal in the two months she had been bonded.

Curse Dumbledore’s pet Aurors, played like a mantra in Solaria’s head.

Now that the war with Dumbledore was raging, though, Solaria found herself training harder than ever before. What if—as impossible as it seemed—someone managed to off Marvolo? She hadn’t given herself to him just so that he could turn around and widow her months later. 

And, no, it didn’t have anything to do with how ardent his kisses were. It had even less to do with how tenderly he held her. The way he breathed her name in her ear with a rush of dizzying emotions didn’t signify in the least!

She heard someone breathing, but the person’s magic was completely suppressed. It was as if its owner didn’t want to disturb her rest. Thoughtful, that. During her childhood, her magic senses were sharpened to a razor’s edge. After a life of hiding what she was, the slightest hint of magic near Solaria was liable to wake her up and send her into a flurry of attacks, the Elder Wand tight in her grasp. Since the magic was suppressed … well, that meant one of the Death Eaters had found her passed out again.

Seven times in the last month, Solaria had woken up in bed with a Death Eater guard. This was the first time one had dared to be in her bedchamber as she slept. Three times it had been Reginald Lestrange, twice it had been Abraxas Malfoy, once it had been Grandfather Orion, and, most disturbing of all, she had woken up to Fangford Flint outside her door—he was still the ugliest pureblood she had ever met. 

Solaria knew they worried about her. After all, she was their Dark Lord’s bride. They were probably terrified of how Marvolo would snap if she truly died. Though it was possible Abraxas had legitimately grown fond of her, seeing as they were related. And she knew Grandfather Orion worried endlessly, at all times, and had done so since her father confessed what she was. If Grandfather Orion hadn’t been in Wizarding Italy on holiday when she was revealed to the Aurors, he would have Apparated her straight to Marvolo.

Instead, Dumbledore’s pets chased her for over a day through the wilderness. She would never forgive him for that.

It was sweet, what they did. Solaria just wished that it didn’t make her seem so terribly weak.

Wondering whose name was about to be added to the list of guards, Solaria opened her eyes. Perhaps she would curse the presumptuous bastard for staying in her chambers. Hmm. No. Better to tell Marvolo and let him torture the blighter. Sighing, Solaria sat up. The blankets fell to her lap. Solaria bit back a feminine yelp when she noticed that she wasn’t wearing her day clothes; no one had ever dared to change her clothes before. She was in a virginal white nightgown—oh, the irony—that hugged her figure.

Solaria fisted her hands. Who had dared to change her clothes? Not even Grandfather Orion had done that! She turned toward the presence, cutting words on her tongue, only to freeze.

To the right of the bed, standing ramrod straight with his back facing her, was Marvolo. His hand was curled in a defensive grip on his wand’s hilt. Since Marvolo was here, that meant.... What did that mean? Why was Marvolo here? He was terribly busy on a slow day. Solaria knew the growing war was anything but slow.

“Marvolo?” she whispered.

“My Aria.” He said it so softly that she knew she wasn’t meant to hear it. Marvolo turned to her and asked, “Are you recovered, little tyrant?”

“The attack on the Ministry of Magic is in three days,” Solaria said, ignoring his question. “Why’re you …?” Solaria couldn’t finish the question while looking at him. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks heat. Looking at him would give too much away. Her heart might have softened a great deal towards him—entirely against her will—but she wasn’t sure if his had as well. Had the wizard who had threatened to strip her of her magic only two months ago really brought her to their bedroom only to guard her all night? He could’ve assigned any number of peons to the task and focused on what was important to the war effort.

Marvolo spoke with a blank face. “I assure you, little tyrant, that I am always precisely where I mean to be.”

Even though Marvolo was irritating, arrogant, and condescending, Solaria still understood all the things he wasn’t saying. Marvolo was the type of person who spoke with actions, not words. Words were merely weapons to him almost all of the time. And his actions were so blatant that to deliberately misunderstand them or brush them aside would be cruel. 

Solaria squared her shoulders. “If anything goes wrong with the takeover, they’ll say that Dumbledore sent me to seduce you and keep you distracted.” He wasn’t a fool; Marvolo would have considered the possibility. It wasn’t what had happened, but only a blind idiot would offhandedly discount the timing of a Necromancer’s successful escape from Aurors to reach the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain.

Marvolo’s grip tightened on his wand. “I’ll kill them if they dare slander you with such a crass lie.” 

It was only one sentence. She believed him with all her heart. Marvolo didn’t need to lie; it was beneath him. “I’m tired, Marvolo,” Solaria announced before falling back against the pillows. The unique scent she associated with him wafted into the air. The tension eased away.

Without a word, Marvolo faced the doors again. He was alert, even though Solaria would wager that he had been awake all night long. The war had made it possible for them to accustom themselves to going long periods without rest. It wasn’t desirable, but it did happen. Solaria stared at his back, shoulders straight and firm. His dark hair seemed like ebony in the early morning light. His yew wand shone; she knew it would cut down anyone who dared to attack her.

And though a petty part of her desired to leave him hanging, she couldn’t. Not with the barest whisper of what he called her in his head still ringing in her ears.

“Marvolo?” He tilted his head to one side, but didn’t turn to face her. “Call me Aria.” He inclined his head, which caused his hair to slither forward and fall in front of his shoulders. For just a millisecond, Marvolo lost control of his tightly suppressed magic; it sang with vicious possessiveness.

Cheeks red, Solaria buried her face in pillows that smelled of them. Though she didn’t want to acknowledge it, Marvolo was seducing her heart away from her. And even though it was terrifying and dangerous and unnerving, Solaria trusted that he would guard, protect, and cherish it as fervently and violently and completely as he did everything else that was within his possession.

***

Solaria’s clothes clung to her skin as the rain poured down harder than ever. She shivered, but couldn’t bring herself to leave her spot in the garden. Her hands were curled into fists and pressed against her mouth as she attempted to stifle the sound of her sobs. Her long hair was soaked. It dragged on the ground, mud coating most of the strands.

She had barely escaped capture. 

It had taken everything Solaria had to keep control of her emotions while Apparating, so that she didn’t Splinch herself. The Inner Circle Death Eaters stood a respectful distance away. She could feel the confusion in their magic, but they kept back after she unconsciously flinched away from the second one who approached her.

Mere moments after that, one of them Disapparated. She didn’t doubt Theodred had sent someone for Marvolo.

Black eyes flashed through Solaria’s memory.

Solaria flinched, bit her tongue, and curled up smaller. She had barely managed to escape. Severus Snape was a spy. 

If she hadn’t been protecting her baby cousins—Iolanthe Malfoy and Lycoris Lestrange—she would’ve been able to avoid the situation. As it was, she wouldn’t have escaped if Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott hadn’t appeared out of nowhere to battle at her side. 

They had each evacuated one of her cousins in the end.

But that didn’t stop her from imagining the worst. Cousin Bellatrix would’ve lost her mind if anything happened to Lycoris. It had taken her over a decade to get pregnant with her daughter. And there would’ve been a blood bath in Diagon Alley if a single hair on Iolanthe’s head were touched. Cousin Henry Potter would’ve laid waste to everyone who threatened to harm her. As for those who might’ve succeeded … well, she doubted even her Necromancy would bring them back.

But the worst part was thinking of what would have happened to her, and, in turn, Marvolo.

The night before, for the first time ever, he had traced the words ‘I love you’ on the bare skin of her back.

Solaria wasn’t entirely sure she felt the same way yet, but she knew what Marvolo was willing to do in the name of anger. What he would do in the name of love would be significantly worse.

A warm hand landed on her shoulder. “Don’t touch me!” Solaria screamed, as she lashed out. A stronger hand grabbed her wrist just in time to keep her from gouging her nails into Marvolo’s face. The furious fear dissipated as Solaria gasped in shock. “M-Marvolo …”

Marvolo’s face, even through the pounding rain, was suddenly sharp, intent, and violent. “What happened?” His voice was a rough growl.

“I-I—” Solaria flung herself against his chest, feeling safe for the first time since she had been ambushed. Not even the manor grounds, Theodred, or the entire Inner Circle had brought the assurance of safety that Marvolo’s presence did. A tear ran down her cheek, accompanied by rain. She wanted to bury herself in a blanket of Marvolo’s magic and never leave it.

“What happened, Aria?” Marvolo’s voice was even lower than before. His grip tightened painfully, but she didn’t object.

“Snape betrayed us.” Solaria leaned back and stared up at Marvolo. His face could have been carved from marble with how unforgiving it was. “He alerted the Order to my presence in the Alley. I had Lycoris and Iolanthe with me; I couldn’t just leave them!” She would never leave a young lady defenseless. Her cousins were only twelve!

Marvolo’s aura spiked higher with bloodlust than Solaria had ever felt it. His back was rigid underneath her touch. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, something he had taken to doing recently. It always calmed her and made her relax against him. He pulled a hand away from her back and she fisted his battle robes more tightly, as if that would hold him in place. Solaria couldn’t bear to be alone anymore, not now that he was within reach.

Would Marvolo hold this against her?

With wary eyes, she glanced up. Her breath caught in her throat. He was handsome in his brutality. “Marvolo?”

He trailed the back of his hand down her cheek with a predatory light in his eyes. “Aria.” Marvolo crushed her against his chest and then claimed her mouth in a rush of possessive heat. When she whimpered against him, dazed, breathless, and weak, he pulled back long enough to breathe against her ear, “You must be more vigilant, Aria. You’re the only woman I’d ever trust with my children.” His right hand slid down to her stomach. “You’re the only woman I could ever trust”—his voice lowered, becoming harder to hear—“with my heart.”

Until she heard him speak the words, Solaria didn’t realize it was what she had longed for him to say. That meant she shouldn’t trust his words. That meant she shouldn’t trust him. But she wanted to trust him—oh, how desperately she wanted to trust that his love was real.

But they had only been bonded four months. Could a Dark Lord really allow himself such an immense weakness in such a short amount of time?

***

“It’s not that’s bad, Aria,” Marvolo said, when she visited him in the hospital wing of the manor. “I don’t want you to worry.” Marvolo lied to her.

He was covered in bandages, and he had already bled through some of them. Solaria didn’t have the training for healing. If she did, she would’ve used as much of her magic as she needed to use to fix him right away. It’s not like Death would let her die of magical exhaustion or anything. If Marvolo had died, Merlin forbid, Solaria could’ve brought him back. Healing the living wasn’t a talent she had yet cultivated. And just because she could bring him back didn’t mean she wouldn’t feel the agony of his death.

“How can I not worry? Travers said you almost didn’t survive. She said it’s a miracle you made it back to the manor at all!” The recent butterflies in Solaria’s stomach were absent. Instead, it felt like she had swallowed a deck of exploding snap cards. 

She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was seventeen years old. She knew what she wanted.

Solaria wanted Marvolo.

Marvolo frowned then and said, “Travers needs to learn how to keep her mouth shut.”

“I’ll be back,” Solaria said.

It hadn’t taken long at all to find out what had happened. Grandfather Orion was wrapped around her finger, and Theodred wanted vengeance on his lord’s behalf. Once she had the correct information, she was off. 

Dumbledore needed killing.

***

Two days was plenty of time to accomplish her self-appointed task.

Solaria tucked her wand into its holster and walked out of the trees. Abraxas and Reginald stared at her as she approached the manor’s gate. 

“My lady,” Reginald breathed.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Abraxas asked. He took a half-aborted step towards her. She didn’t doubt for a second that it was because of all the blood on her clothes.

“I’m fine,” Solaria said. 

“What happe—?” Reginald asked.

Abraxas hushed his companion. “My lord is still in the hospital wing, my lady. His personal room.” 

With all the magic at the Dark Side’s disposal, he still hadn’t been healed yet? Maybe she had gone too easy on her victim. “Thank you,” Solaria said before going to his hospital room.

Marvolo opened his eyes and perused her soaked body. “You’ve been gone for days.”

Solaria shrugged, trying not to show how affected she was to see him on the mend; he was actually sitting up. Her stomach felt less like the recipient of a Blasting Curse. “Death and I felt like playing.” Solaria set her wand next to him on the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

She walked into the adjoining bathroom, dropped her ruined clothes on the floor, and showered. Marvolo’s private hospital room included a wardrobe of his clothes. Amusingly, some of her nightgowns hung inside it. Solaria put one on after drying off; it was quite provocative. Hopefully, it would encourage him to heal faster and not languish in bed. Solaria hated seeing him weak, perhaps even more than he loathed feeling weak.

She was still toweling her hair when she walked back into Marvolo’s hospital room. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll—”

Marvolo took a sharp breath, which made Solaria give him her full attention. Had one of his wounds opened up again? But no … he was just looking at her. 

Solaria glanced down at herself self-consciously. What? What was it? It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, and in more detail. “Marvolo?” She dropped the towel and hurried to his bedside.

He grabbed her wrist before she could touch him, gaze trailing over her. It was a more thorough inspection than the one he had given her when she first returned. “Aria, I …” Marvolo caressed her side, trailing his fingers over her hip and down to her thigh. “Where did you get this? I haven’t seen this nightgown before.”

“Cousin Narcissa picked it up for me the last time she was in Wizarding Paris.” 

“Change,” he ordered, voice blank.

Solaria glared and resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Why should I? I like it!”

“So do I,” he hissed. “Give me three days to heal, little tyrant, and then wear it again. I’ll make it worth your time.” Marvolo stared at her with more hunger than he had on their bonding night.

She didn’t dignify him with a verbal response. But she did change. Solaria would let someone else tell him she had won the war in her rage.

***

A soft grumbling sound caused Solaria to look up from the paperwork she shared with Marvolo. For the first time in a millennium, Wizarding Britain had ruling Dark Monarchs. Alone, they were nigh unbeatable. Together, they were untouchable.

“Aria.” Marvolo’s fingers groped beside him.

Solaria walked over and sat beside her husband on the sofa. She lay down next to him and smiled as he immediately curled around her and stopped grumbling. Marvolo had been the first to shorten her name in that way. As time passed, that name meant more to her than any other. 

He had come to mean more to her than anything.

Solaria had never imagined being bonded at sixteen, let alone Dark Queen of Wizarding Britain at nearly eighteen. However, running from those Aurors almost two years ago was more than worth it. Because the Death Eaters loved her, and so did Marvolo.

She had been right the first time she met him. Marvolo Gaunt loved with a possessive desperation she had never seen the equal to, not even between her own parents, who she would’ve previously declared the pinnacle of true love.

“Aria,” Marvolo whispered. His hand slid down to cup the slight well of her stomach.

She kissed the underside of his chin and offered the needed assurance. Everything else in her life might have changed, but this one thing wouldn’t ever change. “I’m here, Marvolo. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
